


Sometimes to stay alive

by Auntie_S



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Pack, Angst, Canon Divergent, Derek Hale Has Feelings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentioned Allison Argent, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, post season 3B
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntie_S/pseuds/Auntie_S
Summary: Stiles screams.He lurches forward and sits up straight in his bed, panting, his heart pounding in his chest and in his hears. He needs a minute to make sure he’s not going to be sick, as it sometimes happens. He takes a few deep breaths, not letting the panic invade him. Not this time. Once his heart is back to a somewhat normal pace, Stiles lies back down on his pillows and wipes the sweat on his forehead.On the other side of town, as if on cue, Derek Hale wakes with a start.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To anyone reading this... thank you :)  
> This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction (or not, I was writing fanfics when I was 15 but I had no clue it was a THING) and I am pretty new to this AMAZING world so... we'll see how it goes. yikes.
> 
> It's set right after season 3B but I decided that Erica, Boyd and Isaac are still alive and present (I do what I want)  
> I should give a warning for mentions of suicide, Allison's death, panic attacks and description of wounds and violence. If those subjects trigger you, this story might not be for you.  
> Thanks to my friend LittleRedRidingTheWolf for the cheering up and support and for teaching me everything I know about the fandom and this website (and tumblr. however, I still don't really know how it works)!
> 
> Beta'd (ish) by me.  
> Title is from the song Migraine, from Twenty One Pilots.
> 
> Enjoy!

They always start the same way.

_Stiles is alone. Walking in the dark, in what seems to be an endless tunnel. Slowly, his eyes adjust to the darkness and he starts noticing his surroundings. He’s in some kind of hallway. He keeps walking, arm raised, hand brushing the wall, no, more like locker doors. He’s at school. At night, no lights on. As he walks down the corridor, the faint light of the moon shines through the windows. He sees better now. He sees the rows of lockers, the classrooms doors. But still, he can’t see the end of the hallway he is standing in. He looks to his left and sees a classroom door that was left ajar._

_Curious, he pushes it open and stands at the back of the room, looking around. “Hello?” he calls. “Anybody here?” Then, he sees it. There is someone in the room. Someone standing, their back against a table across the room. They’re very, very still. He rapidly makes his way down the rows of desks, his heart racing as he gets closer. When he gets in front of the body, because yes, it is definitely a dead body, he just can’t hold himself up anymore; his knees give out. He recognizes him now, even if his body is bent forward. He knows this moment. Frozen to the spot, on his knees, he looks at Scott. His best friend. Who has a poisonous Oni sword piercing through his torso. He looks around for help but, of course, there’s no one else. He is going to be sick. He jumps up and bolts out of the room. He feels the panic swelling in his chest, threatening to explode. Panting, he runs down the corridor, screaming for help as loud as he can. He only stops when he hears a noise and looks to his left. A door opens before him. His panic is somewhat subdued in the hope of finding help but his heart is still racing, as if he was going to have an asthma attack. He knows everything about asthma and he still has the spare inhaler he always kept for Scott… Scott… who will never need his inhaler, ever again._

_Ignoring the small voice in his head telling him not to go in there, he enters the room and, for a few seconds, he sees nothing. He walks around for a while before he catches a glimpse of a black form, lying against the wall underneath the black board. The person coughs. Still alive! Stiles runs to them, tripping at least twice. He falls on his knees and hands, in front of his friend, Allison. Who also has a sword sticking out of her chest. She’s crying and spitting blood. But she is. Still. Alive. Stiles repeats those two words in his mind like a mantra, hoping it’ll keep him sane. “Ali, I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry, you’ll be fine, don’t cry, I’m here…” he recites like a litany, trying to reassure them both. Allison raises her hand and puts in on Stiles’ arm. “Stiles… Stiles… why would you do this to me? To Scott? Why would you do this to us…” Stiles freezes at her words and looks up to her face, just in time to see her eyes go still, a last tear escaping on her cheek. “NO!” Stiles screams. He raises to his feet as fast as he can without falling and runs out of the classroom._

_He crashes against the bathroom door across the hall and pushes it open. The panic in his gut is back full force and he wheezes, trying to breathe. “This is not happening, this isn’t real, this can’t be real…” he tells himself, trying to calm down, pacing nervously in the middle of the men’s bathroom. He feels like he is going to be sick. Stiles suddenly grabs the sink with both hands, expecting his body to revolt, any time now. His head snaps up and he looks in the mirror._

_Suddenly, time seems to stop. He can’t hear the rushing sound of water, the sound of panic inside his head. He can’t hear the frantic sound of his heart beating anymore. There’s nothing. No more moonlight, no more ambient noise, nothing. Nothing but his own reflection staring back at him. His face emaciated, his eyes hollow, with dark and pronounced bags underneath, his hair disheveled. It’s him. But it isn’t, at the same time. His reflection tilts its head. And smiles._

Stiles screams.

He lurches forward and sits up straight in his bed, panting, his heart pounding in his chest and in his hears. He needs a minute to make sure he’s not going to be sick, as it sometimes happens. He takes a few deep breaths, not letting the panic invade him. Not this time. Once his heart is back to a somewhat normal pace, Stiles lies back down on his pillows and wipes the sweat on his forehead.

He glances at his bedside alarm clock: 2:11 am. Shit. He screwed up his sleeping schedule. He usually doesn’t sleep at night, the nightmares being at their worst then. He also sleeps as little as possible when his dad is in the house, so he doesn’t hear him scream. Which is unfortunately the case tonight; he really screwed everything up. Inevitably, he hears footsteps on the other side of his bedroom door. He woke his dad up. Stiles doesn’t move and doesn’t make a sound and after a silent few seconds, he hears his dad going back to his room. His dad who has stopped asking questions or making efforts to reach out, since it’s a lost cause. It also means that he had one of THOSE nightmares again. The ones that always start the same but that are also getting worse and worse. The ones that leave him screaming in terror in the middle of the night.

 

***

On the other side of town, as if on cue, Derek Hale wakes with a start. He opens his eyes wide, heart jumping in his chest, victim of a nightmare that does not belong to him, once again. He knows they are Stiles’. They couldn’t be anyone else’s. And he is still not sure he understands why he is that connected to the boy…

Stiles’ nightmare or not, he has been so worked up lately, his sleep is pretty hectic. Which is a little ironic because it’s pretty peaceful these days. There is no immediate crisis. No imminent threat on Beacon Hills and his pack. But still, he just can’t seem to be able to sleep. He would even go as far as saying he usually sleeps better in times of trouble. Not that right now isn’t one.  But it’s just… different. It’s a different kind of trouble from the ones they got all year long at least.

This past year has been… crazy. To say the least. They first had to go through the Darach and her human sacrifices. Thinking about it or saying “her” name is enough to get a million shivers of disgust and shame and guilt and nausea running down Derek’s back. After that, because it wasn’t enough, it never is in Beacon Hills, came the Nogitsune. The Japanese fox dragged all of them through hell and it was definitely the hardest thing they’ve ever been through. For everyone. But mostly for _him_. For Stiles.

His guts twist at the thought. He had gotten a little protective of Stiles, with everything that happened. Thinking of Stiles, hurt like he was by the evil spirit, makes him sick. He might be human, but he is still part of his pack; his beta, in a way. “It probably explains the dreams connection” Derek lies to himself.

Connection aside, he is still important, no, crucial to Derek’s pack. As is everyone else, of course. When he met Stiles and Scott, a few years back, he had just been back from New York, still grieving his family, and more recently Laura. He was in desperate NEED of presence, family, closeness, touch. Pack. The two boys were annoying, of course. Immature little shits who were way too young to even begin to comprehend what was happening to them, what life had brought their way. So, of course, Derek started to feel responsible. Annoyed, but responsible. Stiles was the one who was getting under his skin the most: the weak, clumsy, skinny human. But clever, and brave, and caring and sweet. Even when he didn’t understand half of what was happening at the time, Stiles would have taken any of their places, anytime, in the face of any danger. Some could even say that, with the Nogitsune, Stiles had it coming. At that simple thought, Derek’s throat tightens. The idea that they almost LOST Stiles then…

And THAT. Right there. Those physical reactions, those unknown feelings, are probably what really explains the connection he has with Stiles but Derek cannot look at the truth in the face. He just can’t. Because he has the worst timing in the world for letting himself FEEL something for once. For dropping the big, bad and broody alpha act and becoming over attentive and overprotective of a teenager who actually doesn’t want anything to do with the pack at the moment...

No one has seen Stiles in a few weeks now. And it’s driving Derek crazy.

 

Derek shakes his thoughts away and scoffs to himself. It’s a little passed 2 am and he needs to sleep. He doesn’t feel like it’s going to happen anytime soon, though. So, he gets up, ruffling his hair in annoyance, and makes his way to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and eyes the beer pack sitting on the middle shelf. It’s wolfsbane laced beer. Stiles brought it for him last time he came over. Before everything happened. Derek hasn’t been able to bring himself to touch it since then and the reasons why Derek didn’t want to drink it are purely psychological and emotional. It’s as if, for Derek’s weirdly and newly wired brain, the beer pack became a metaphor for Stiles’ presence in their life. In his life. He just couldn’t bring himself to use the boy’s gift without him around. Since the Nogitsune was defeated, Stiles vanished. Well, not really. They know he is home. But they also know he will not get out of there. No one can get even a reaction out of him. Not his dad, not even Scott. Derek didn’t actually try. Not that he didn’t want to. He did. But he had been where Stiles is and he understands. The guilt… If what Stiles needs is time to cope, he will give him that. Stiles will come back to him, to them, when he is ready… Will he? 

Derek doesn’t know anymore. And he can’t keep lying to himself to ease the guilt he is feeling everyday. He HAS to figure out what to do with that. For his sake, but mostly for his pack’s, who is going a little crazy without one of theirs. He thinks he has to bring everyone together. Tomorrow, to plan, as Stiles would, in time of crisis. So, for now, he needs to sleep. And if one of Stiles’ wolfsbane laced beer is going to do the trick, well so be it. Desperate times…

Beer in hand, Derek goes back to his bedroom and sits on the bed, drinking slowly.  On his bedside table, his cellphone’s screen lights up with a new text message. His heart skips a beat. At this time of the night, he couldn’t think of anyone awake, needing him. Actually, he knows one person who is most certainly awake at this time… Could it be?

Quickly, he grabs the phone, lighting it back up. It is not what he was thinking and he isn’t sure if he is relieved or disappointed. The message comes from a number that is neither saved on his device nor does he recognize.

_Derek. This is Sheriff Stilinski. Meet me for coffee tomorrow at 9 at that place next to the station. I’m getting really worried about Stiles and I need to talk to his Alpha._

 

Derek was NOT expecting that. A call for help, from the Sheriff. However, he can easily explain the late-night text, Stiles screaming in his dreams and all... No wonder his father is awake too. His hands shaking a little, he types a fast answer:

_I’ll be there._

Then, he raises the volume of his cellphone to make sure he doesn’t miss anything, sets his alarm and, in three big gulps, finishes his beer. That should be enough to knock him out. And it is.

 

***

When Derek gets to the coffee shop at 9am sharp, the Sheriff, already in uniform, looking exhausted and maybe 10 years older than last time he saw him, is already sitting at a table in the back. He raises a hand to Derek but drops it immediately, realizing Derek must have known he was there even before coming in. Derek goes to the counter, orders a simple black coffee, his usual, and joins the Sheriff at his table.

“Derek. Thanks for meeting with me.”

Derek sits, his shoulders stiff and his eyebrows drawn together. He gives the Sheriff a quick nod in acknowledgment.

“I’m not sure where to start…  I’m really lost right now and I feel like I’m failing at being a father... I’m dead worried about Stiles. He’s in his room all the time, never comes out, except when I’m out of the house I believe, when he knows he is alone… I know he uses the bathroom when I’m not there. I get him food that he likes and I know he steals a bit and brings it to his room but I don’t think he’s eating all that much. It sounds like he sleeps a few hours during the day and spends his nights pacing. Except for last night apparently, he woke up screaming around 2. At first, I tried reaching out. I did. I got broody dismissals which quickly faded into nothing at all in just a few days. He is not doing well, Derek.”

“I know…” Derek adds.

The Sheriff looked at him, eyebrows raised, looking frustrated.

“Do you, Derek? Scott tried coming over. So did Isaac, Erica and Lydia. Shit, even Melissa sat at his door for a few hours. You’re his Alpha. _Where the hell were you??_ ”

For the first time since he got there, Derek’s fake confidence crumbles. He looks down, ashamed. The tension in his shoulders and his face releases all of a sudden.

“I wanted to help. I’ve kinda been where he is and I unfortunately understand the level of guilt Stiles must be dealing with at the moment. And I thought maybe he just needed time to cope, without any pressure… and Scott has been giving me updates on the situation regularly.”

He pauses.

“What happened to Stiles… is no small thing. It was a lot to deal with, it still is and it will be, for a long time. He was possessed, controlled, for days! Maybe weeks, for all we know… Consumed from the inside by an evil spirit feeding on chaos and destruction. And all along, he was conscious. Aware of everything that he was doing, everything happening without his consent, out of his control. That I can’t even begin to imagine… The Nogitsune used him to do such… unthinkable, bad things… Allison died, Sheriff….”

“I am well aware, Derek.”

Derek’s throat tightens.

“I gave him a breather. I gave him time to accept that what happened was not his fault, like we all told him so, so many times. But he doesn’t seem to get the message. I understand that things have to change now, it’s time to get him out of there.  What can I do? I’ll do whatever is necessary…”

The Sheriff sighs and drops is head, looking to his coffee. Helpless.

“I don’t know. But, please, help me. Hell, forget about me, help him. I know you care about Stiles, son. Help him.”

Derek’s head stiffly jerks up at the words and he shifts his weight on his chair, uncomfortably.

“Of course…”

He thinks for a second before he continues.

“I can start by setting up surveillance for whenever you’re not home? We’ll make sure he’s never alone and that he is alright, at all times. I’ll keep an eye on him. Then I could try to reach out, after some time. We’ll get him there, I promise.”

The Sheriff nods and gives Derek a small and tired smile.

“That’s all I’m asking.”

After that, they sip their coffees in silence, until Stiles’ dad gets up and puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“Thank you, son. I really hope we get through to him. If anyone can, I’m sure it’s you. I’m going to work now for a double shift; I work the graveyard shift tonight. For today, I think he is going to be fine, he didn’t sleep all that well last night… Scott was supposed to pass by later and I’ll be home late afternoon for a few hours before my next shift. Could you arrange to have someone check on him tonight?”

“I’ll take care of tonight myself, Sheriff. I’ll text you if anything happens.”

“Sure thing, Derek. Talk to you soon.”

A few seconds later, he’s out the door. Derek sighs, finishes his coffee and follows not too long after so he can go back to bed and get ready for what he fears will be a long night.

 

***

Stiles wakes up, choking. He suddenly feels like he is drowning, his throat and lungs on fire. He reaches next to his bed to grab the small garbage and retches and coughs what is left of his last snack in his stomach. Which isn’t much. At some point, he remembers how to breathe. He is still shaking and still crying; another panic attack.

There is a small knock on his bedroom door. A faint tap.

“Stiles?”

Stiles stills. He does not answer. He feels guilty for worrying his dad but… he just can’t anymore. He can’t bear to hear the disappointment in his dad’s voice. Actually, he can’t even bear to hear the sound of his own voice. He can’t look at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t recognize himself so it’s not even worth it. Or he is scared of what he will find reflected at him, just like in every one of his nightmares.

“Stiles, I’m going back to work soon. Please… I apparently can’t force you to come out and talk to me. But get out of your room and at least eat something tonight? Please…”

His dad waits for a few more seconds but Stiles is sitting very still on the side of his bed, not making any noise. With a sigh, the Sheriff leaves. Stiles hears him going down the stairs and busying himself around the kitchen for a little while. He doesn’t move until he hears the front door closing and the cruiser leaving the driveway. He sighs, with a very shaky breath. And that’s when he realizes tears are still streaming down his face. He gets up on his two shaky legs and quietly opens his bedroom door, heading for the bathroom. He doesn’t open the light. He quickly gets the shower running, strips down his pajamas and slips in the nearly boiling water. He slides down the wall and sits at the bottom of the tub, holding his knees close to his chest, and lets the water run down his face. It’s the only thing, lately, that will make him feel remotely alive.

When the water has gone cold, Stiles closes the taps and gets out. He makes his way downstairs and grabs a packet of cookies his dad bought him. When he is back in his room, he glances at his computer, lying on his desk. Closed. He shrugs thoughts of opening it. He couldn’t. He finds his cellphone lying somewhere in a corner of the room, where he last threw it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a strong enough throw to break it. He lights up the screen displaying way too many text messages and missed calls and Facebook messages. It looks like the whole town tried to reach him. Except for Derek Hale, apparently. Shows him how important he is to his own alpha. The man who, until recently, until his whole world and life went to hell, he has had a crush on for _years_. Stiles shakes his head, ashamed of his futile thoughts. It doesn’t matter anymore.

He deletes every message before reading any of them and his call history. He can’t stand having anyone’s attention, concerns or worries right now.

He opens the bedside lamp, grabs the second Harry Potter book that he’s in the middle of and the cookies and gets in bed. He opens his book, bracing himself for a long night. He tells himself that this isn’t half bad. He’s better off alone, anyways.

At some point after his dad left, he thinks he hears the roar of a muscle car. But he is pretty sure he is imagining it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There. Take some Sterek-y angst and fluff!
> 
> (I guess I should also add a small warning about mentioned abuse and rape.)

Derek doesn’t sleep well. He’s fidgety and restless all day. Might have something to do with the coffee. Or not, werewolf metabolism and all. More probably because he is anticipating being near Stiles tonight. Having to smell his distress, his sadness, his hollowness... Nevertheless, he gets up at dusk, eats a bite, showers and gets in the Camaro in direction of the Stilinski house. The Sheriff’s cruiser is not in the drive way anymore, as he expected. The only light coming from the house is the very soft one from the bedside lamp in Stiles’ bedroom. From the street, Derek can hear and smell him, enough that he knows the window must be slightly opened. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think everything is normal. He’d think it was just a normal night. A normal school night for Stiles, doing his homework after a meal with his dad, just before going to bed. Before going to school in the morning. But Stiles would not get up for school, nor did he have dinner with his dad. And his scent is way off.

Derek was getting used to the boy’s normal routine by now. He’d seen it so many times… Maybe he had been checking up on Stiles even before everything went to shit, okay? Not in a stalking or obsessing way. Just in a very protective way. In an… _intrigued_ way.

His growing interest had been going on for a little over a year now. Ever since Stiles proved himself as capable as any supernatural creature in the pack. In fact, when Stiles saved him from the Kanima in the school pool, Derek realized what kind of person annoying little Stiles really is. Stiles held onto him. For more than two hours. And they weren’t even close back then, not even friends.

After that, Derek stopped degrading Stiles. He stopped thinking he was just a dead weight for Scott or for the pack. He started seeing his true value. He started seeing _Stiles_. Then, every single time Stiles had been in harm’s way (or, most likely, had put himself there), Derek had been more and more worried about him. Like that time when Gerard had lured him into his basement and beat him to a pulp. It was meant to get to Scott, not him, but oh did it get to him. He had rarely been that pissed off in his entire life. He thought he was going to go crazy, just at the thought that Stiles was injured and couldn’t heal as fast as they could. He just wished he could have taken his place. If only he knew the sole purpose of all that circus was to actually get something out of him in the end, he would have given Gerard what he wanted, right from the start.

And if Derek wasn’t constantly lying to himself about all this, he would know that it definitely wasn’t the same protectiveness that he showed the rest of his pack. It was something else. Thinking like that about another person was… different. Unexpected. Unfamiliar. He had to face the truth, didn’t he? He didn’t hate Stiles. So, so far from it.

Three weeks ago, when Derek realized Stiles was the Nogitsune’s victim, he felt like his heart had been shattered in a million pieces. He buried the feeling in working hard to find a solution. He buried the feeling to stop himself from going on a killing spree, starting with Argent, when Chris started talking about putting the fox down, Stiles included. He cried like a baby, alone in his loft, when they finally managed to free Stiles and defeat the spirit. He couldn’t really deny it anymore. He had to see the feelings he had for Stiles for what they really were.

 

Right before dawn, Derek notices the light in Stiles’ room being turned off. He knows the Sheriff will be home any time now, so he sends him a quick text to let him know there was no change but that, at least, Stiles wasn’t alone all night. Feeling exhausted, and maybe a little bit broken inside, he goes home.

 

***

The Sheriff takes the night shifts for a week. Derek, sticking to his promise, goes to the Stilinski house every single night to check up on Stiles. At some point, when he finds Derek asleep in his car in the morning, the Sheriff tells him he doesn’t have to be there all night. Passing by the house a few times would be enough. Derek can’t seem to be able to change his routine. Being this close to Stiles every night is… a little stalkerish, sure, but mostly intoxicating. He misses him too much.  So he stays, from dusk to dawn. Even if he falls asleep on the job, no one will know. Except for the Sheriff. But it was one time.

And again, if he is truly honest with himself, he stays because he is hoping. For something. A reaction maybe? A sign? He kind of hopes Stiles will notice him and invite him in to talk. Because he clearly needs someone to talk to by now, right? He hopes Stiles realizes Derek is there for him. Whoever he needs him to be: his alpha, his friend, a punching bag, whatever.

 

It’s on the fifth night that it happens. At first, he hears commotion in Stiles bedroom, a muffled “fuck” from the teenager and then nothing else. Until the beep of his cell phone a few minutes later. An incoming text message. From Stiles. His heart races, beating loudly in his ears, while he opens it.

_“What are you doing here”_

He doesn’t exactly know what he was hoping for, but he feels disappointed nonetheless. He answers, even if he’s not usually a texter, because he thinks it’s the best way to reach Stiles right now. He is pretty sure a call would be declined. And climbing through his window would only result in Stiles calling the cops on him. Baby steps.

_“Checking up on you, making sure you’re ok”_

_“Bullshit. I know you’ve been here every night the entire week. My dad asked you? Or do you, oh great Alpha, feel guilty because you did not give a shit about one of your pups for the past 2 weeks? Or are you making sure I don’t go back to my murderous self? Go to hell, Derek.”_

Derek can’t help but feel shocked by Stiles answer. And also, very very frustrated. How he wishes he could just go over there and give a piece of his mind to the arrogant little jerk. But at the same time, isn’t that a cry for help? After all, if the punching bag option is what will help Stiles, Derek should respect that.

_“We care about you Stiles. We all do. I do. We wish there was something we could do. We are all very worried.”_

_“Yes well, you shouldn’t.”_

At first, he refuses to see the last text for what it is: a dismissal. Then, he hears a sigh coming from Stiles’ bedroom and his silhouette appears in the window. He barely hears it, but just enough. Stiles whispers: “go home Derek…”

And so he does.

 

***

Stiles is in bed, lights on, ready for another sleepless night. He’s trying to read (he’s in The Prisoner of Azkaban now) but his mind is somewhere else. He found out Derek has been coming over to check on him, every night this week. He wasn’t aware of it at first, thinking he was just imagining the specific sound of the alpha’s Camaro. But then, on the third night, he looked through the window. And he saw him. Derek really was there. In his opinion, it’s just _weird_. Derek has never cared about Stiles. Even if it hurts him to think about it, Stiles knows that Derek doesn’t like him very much. He tolerates him. As a pack member. And he has proven that in the first weeks after Stiles’ breakdown, when he never showed up, never called, texted, climbed through his window, just like every other member of the pack did. So yeah, just weird.

The next morning, Stiles waited until he was sure his dad was soundly asleep and he ventured out of his room. He found his dad’s phone on the kitchen table and opened it, without a second thought. The most recent text message his dad had received was from Derek Hale. He knew something was fishy…

_“Nothing new sir, will be here again tonight.”_

So, Derek is spying on him while his dad is at work. On his dad’s request most probably. That’s what’s up. Great.

Actually, it is great. Stiles is trying very hard to get Scott, Lydia, Erica, Boyd and Isaac to understand he is not worth their efforts. At least, Derek should not be so hard to convince.

 

Tonight is the fifth night in a row that Stiles’ dad has been working and Stiles is anxious to see if Derek is going to show up again, hoping he’ll finally get the message and give up. But also hoping he would see him again.

When Stiles hears the roar of the Camaro, he forgets about his sappy teenager hopes of seeing his crush again, he just gets angry. He takes deep breaths, trying to even his heart beat. Derek will get out of his car and make a move if Stiles’ heart races too fast, he’s pretty sure of that. Especially if he’s reporting to his dad; he’d have to go the extra mile.

In a fit of anger, Stiles throws his comforter on the floor and his book against the wall. He mumbles a “fuck”, feeling bad for the precious book, while he retrieves it on the floor and places it delicately on his bedside table, as if to say he is sorry. Then, he walks to the window, as subtly as he can, so Derek doesn’t see him if he’s looking up. And of course, there he is. Again.

Stiles grabs his phone from his desk, opens it and sends a text to Derek. It takes a few back and forth and a whisper from Stiles, but the alpha seems to understand and he finally leaves.

But even then, Stiles can’t help but feel a pang in his chest when he hears Derek’s car rolling away.

 

***

Derek doesn’t go back to the Stilinskis for a few days. Not because of what Stiles said, but because the Sheriff said he had a few days off and would be staying home to keep an eye on the “situation”. That made Derek cringe because he knew exactly what Stiles would think of being called a “situation”.

When Derek passed by the station to tell the Sheriff what happened with his son, he saw a glimmer of hope in the man’s eyes. He said he thought it was a good thing because, at least, they were getting a reaction out of Stiles. Even if it’s anger, it was enough for him, for now. According to his dad, Stiles doesn’t even use his phone. Ever. When anyone calls, they are immediately rerouted to his voice mail, which most likely indicates that the phone is shut down. It remains closed and when he opens it, it’s just so he can delete his Facebook conversations, from what his friends said. Safe to assume he probably does the same with the rest of their failed attempts to reach out.

On the Sheriff’s first night back on the job, Derek is restless. The night has fallen a few hours ago and he can’t settle down. He’s walking around the loft endlessly, debating if he should go, or not.

In the end, he just grabs his keys and wallet and leaves. Of course he goes.

 

When he gets near the Stilinski house, he shuts down the engine and looks up to Stiles room. The light is on. Then, he hears it.

“Dude, you have GOT to be shittin’ me!”

He hears Stiles shuffling in his covers and he sees him appear at his window.

“I don’t want you here, you don’t want to be here, every body knows you don’t give a shit about me, Derek. Just go the fuck away!”

Punching bag Derek, at your service. Well Derek has had enough of the teenager’s attitude. He climbs out of his car and slams the door closed. He sees and feels Stiles stiffening. His heart is racing, faster than its usual rapid pace. Stiles seems to realize he did something that will fall right back on his head this time.

Derek climbs the side of the house and when he gets to his window, Stiles has vanished. He tries to open it but, of course, it’s locked. Derek taps gently at first and roughly when he loses patience. Like 15 seconds later. He speaks loud enough for the human to hear him through the glass because, even though he can’t see him, he knows Stiles is still in his room. He can still hear his heart and his breathing, quicker than usual.

“Stiles, if you do not open this window, I WILL break it. You know I can.”

When he gets no reaction on the other side of the glass, he continues.

“Look, we know you’ve been going through a lot. You’re hurt and we are TRYING to help and be there for you. Nothing seems to work though, you just drive everyone away and I know you are doing it on purpose. So, if kindness and caring doesn’t work, should we use violence then? Haven’t you had enough of that? Should we start yelling at you? Breaking down your door? Your window? Because you know I will. And I’m like 10 seconds away to do just that because you’re REALLY starting to get on my n…”

Before he finishes his sentence, Stiles is at the window and looks at him with a look full of disbelief, of hatred, but also with some kind of wonder, of curiosity. He unlocks the window and moves away, going back to sit on his bed.

Derek slowly opens it, moving gently so he doesn’t startle the teenager. He takes a good look at the boy and his heart sink in his chest. If his physical state doesn’t seem to have improved since the Nogitsune has been gone, it says a lot about his mental state. He’s skinny, skin on bones. He has dark circles under his eyes; Derek has a flash of a certain nightmare he’s been having. Stiles’ whiskey-coloured eyes that are always so bright and mischievous are now completely off and hollow. He’s wearing over-worn clothes, clearly too big for him and his hair is dishevelled from the last shower he took. He looks so small… Derek just wants to hold him. So, so much. He knows it’s too much though, so he doesn’t even step forward. He just waits a few seconds before he speaks.

“You opened up.”

“Yes well, I didn’t want to pay for the broken window. Since you’re in cahoots with my dad, he never would have asked YOU to pay for it yourself, would he?”, Stiles says, with a defying stare.

Little shit. Even through hardship, he was still the sarcastic little jerk Derek unfortunately liked so much.

Derek snorts and looks at his feet before he looks back up, straight into Stiles’ eyes, hoping his are conveying how honest he is and how much he really wants to talk and to help.

“Be serious Stiles. Why now? Why me?”

Stiles tilts his head, thinking. He looks like a lost puppy.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk this much before.”

That’s all he says. And it is enough for Derek, because he understands. Stiles is ready and willing to make an effort, to let him in, because Derek made the effort to use his words, for once. Even if it was ironically to threaten him with violence in the end.

Derek gives him a small reassuring smile, showing Stiles that he gets him. He steps forward and sits on the computer chair. And he waits for Stiles to speak.

He does, after a few minutes, defeated.

“I still don’t know what you are doing here, Derek. I have nothing to say. Not to you, not to my dad, not to anyone. I wish you guys would just stop and leave me alone, seriously. Before you ask, no, I don’t want to talk about what happened. I… it’s not worth it.”

Stiles corrects himself at the last second but it’s too late. Derek heard it. _I’m not worth it_. He looks sharply at Stiles, eyes flashing red for a second. He gets up, angry. The boy freezes.

“So that’s what it is, isn’t it? You don’t think you’re worth it. You even want everyone to THINK you’re not worth it. You’re being a dick to everyone to actually convince them that you are trash they can just forget about so they can get on with their lives, right? I don’t know what is your plan Stiles, but let me tell you right now. It is not going to work. Because no matter what you try to make us believe, it won’t work. We will NEVER think you’re not worth it. Get that?”

While he talks, Stiles crosses his arms on his skinny chest and rises an eyebrow. He waits a few seconds after Derek is done before he answers.

“Ok, sourwolf. One, what’s with the speeches tonight, man?! You must be exhausted. Two, it’s not about trying to convince everyone, because it’s just facts! It is what they SHOULD be thinking, because that is what I AM, isn’t it? Three, I still don’t get why you care. And that’s my main point here, please don’t answer to the first two matters of business. They were rhetorical questions anyways. Moving on. You are just my dad’s guard dog, right? Pun totally intended, FYI. You don’t ACTUALLY care. I know that. I know you don’t give a shit, everybody knows that as a fact. I’m just the little human in your pack full of powerful and mystical supernatural creatures. The human who always gets in trouble. And I kind of reached a peak on that matter lately, haven’t I. So, tell me, why would ANYONE care? Why would you…”

Derek cuts him before he finishes ranting.

“You done?! Geez, Stiles... Enough with the martyr complex already. I don’t know how or how many time I need to tell you, but I care. I do. I really, really do… so much. You have no idea how much it drives me crazy to see you hurt, Stiles…”

Derek suddenly realizes what he is starting to insinuate and he stops talking. He looks down at his feet, the top of his ear reddening. Shit. What the hell is wrong with him… Derek is not ashamed of his feelings, even though he doesn’t quite understand them just yet, but now is SO not the time.

 

***

Stiles looks at him, a little dumbstruck. He is not sure if he heard him correctly. He snorts and resorts to his usual: dismissal, sarcasm and self-deprecating humour.

“Now now, oh great alpha. Don’t get mushy on me, Der. I got your point, you really don’t have to oversell it for my sake.”

They glance at each other. Derek looks discouraged, hopeless. Stiles adopts the same look as before: disbelieving with a note of wonder. He just witnessed Derek Hale talking about his emotions. He is impressed. But he can’t hang on to that. He doesn’t deserve to hang on to that.

Without another word, he lies back down on his bed and opens his book. He finally breathes when Derek shows himself out.

 

Stiles knows Derek has told his dad about their little encounter the other night. Derek hasn’t been back, to his knowledge, but his dad has been a lot more present and insistent. And Stiles is starting to get really, really fed up. He let the werewolf in ONCE and now they think everything is suddenly fine.

A few nights after Derek’s visit, Stiles hears loud footsteps in the stairs, angry footsteps, and braces himself for a very very mad werewolf. However, he gets a very very mad father instead. The Sheriff barges in Stiles’ room and the boy squeaks, pushing himself further on his bed. Out of fear and surprise, he starts panting and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. He feels like this little bubble he created for himself, to protect himself, just suddenly burst without his consent.

“Dad!!! What are you doing?! Get out, you don’t get to come in here, GET OUT!”

His dad also looks like he’s been crying. Or like he was about to. His eyes are red and his shoulders are slumped. He’s shaking with anger.

“I have had enough, young man. Have you seen yourself?”, the Sheriff has to pause, taking in the troubling sight of his son. “I don’t recognize you anymore, Stiles. You scare the heck out of me, son... So, I am here to give you a fair warning. You have two days. TWO DAYS, you hear me? I want you out of here, while I’m in the house, and ready to let me help you and to get some professional help as well. If you can’t do that for me, I’ll have no choice but to call someone from the hospital to come get you, Stiles. Or from Eichen, if necessary. I don’t want you to go back there, trust me, but if that’s what it takes, so be it. I’m leaving for work now, so think wisely. And think fast.”

The Sheriff steps out of his son’s room and closes the door.

Now, it’s Stiles turn to shake with anger. His heart feels constricted in his chest, the sound of its too quick beating deafening. Stiles realizes he is crying and tries to talk himself away from the panic.

“Don’t go there, Stiles, don’t let him get to you. Breathe, Stiles, don’t freak out, it’s not worth it…”, he thinks to himself.

When he gets his breathing back to normal and his heart rate to calm down, he gets up from his bed. He sees red. He paces around, hands in fists, nails biting in his palms to prevent himself from hitting something. When he finally hears his dad leave the drive way in his cruiser, he pulls the door of his bedroom open and walks around the house, breathing heavy with anger. He stops in the door frame of his dad’s office, eyeing a very specific shelf behind the desk, suddenly much calmer, cheeks still wet with tears.

“You want to play dirty, dad? I can play dirty.”

 

***

Derek jumps, awaken by the loud sound of thunder. He is in his car, near the Stilinski house and it’s pouring rain. Since their confrontation a few nights ago, he parks a little further down the street so Stiles can’t see the Camaro from his window. Derek can’t see anything either so he relies solely on his senses of smell and hearing. And right now, he can’t hear or smell Stiles anywhere in the area. In a hurry, he starts the car’s engine and rolls slowly closer to the house. The light is on in Stiles’ bedroom but the teenager is definitely not in the house anymore. He hasn’t been for a while, probably. Derek curses himself for falling asleep and hits the steering wheel with his fist.

He has to find him.

The werewolf drives around the neighborhood, slowly, opening his car window every street corner or so to try and get a sense of smell of the area. Stiles has been gone for over an hour probably, his scent has completely faded. The rain showering the streets is nothing to help either. He will never forgive himself if something happened to him. He debates on calling the Sheriff for a few seconds but changes his mind. He feels bad for failing his “guard dog” duties. He snorts fondly at the thought of Stiles’ words but shakes it away quickly. Something must have already happened for Stiles to leave the house like that. He needs to find him.

It’s when Derek decides to expand his search territory that he starts getting something. Near a kid’s park, he thinks he gets a whiff of Stiles’ anxiety. Across the street from Scott’s house, he gets a wave of the boy’s pain and sorrow. He keeps going.

Almost 20 minutes later, he sees a lanky boy walking on the sidewalk, wearing only sweatpants and a t-shirt. He gets closer, heart beating fast, and follows the boy for a few seconds. When he is sure it’s Stiles, he drives next to him and opens the passenger side’s window. Stiles is completely drenched and shivering. He’s holding himself to preserve his body heat but Derek suspects he’s also trying to hold himself up to keep walking. He reeks of the Sheriff’s cheap scotch, even from inside the car, even through the rain. He also smells like pain, anxiety, fresh tears and something like… hopelessness.

“Stiles. What are you doing, it’s freezing, you’re going to get sick.”

Stiles barely looks up and shrugs, still walking. His shoulders are shaken by another sob.

“Come on, get in the car, Stiles.”

“Go away, Derek.”

His voice is cracking and he slurs Derek’s name. He is very drunk, very angry and very sad.

“Uh-uh. No way. You get in the car, now.”

The boy stops walking suddenly and turns to the Camaro.

“LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

He yells through his tears and sobs, bending forward as if it was hurting him too much. Shit. Derek’s heart breaks in a million pieces. He feels completely helpless in front of that much vulnerability. Especially Stiles’. Because right now, what Derek wants the most, is to make Stiles happy. To see him smile once again. To hear him joke around and be the sarcastic little spaz Derek fell for.

Stiles keeps walking. Derek keeps driving next to him. He’s not talking, he’s just there. However, when he sees a street corner coming, he accelerates a little and turns on the next street just so he can block Stiles from crossing the street. He gets down the Camaro.  

“Stiles, please. If not for you, do it for me... Come inside. Please.”

Stiles looks at him with a betrayed look in his glassy eyes. He looks to the Camaro and back to the werewolf. Derek whispers another “please” and Stiles, without a word, opens the door and climbs in. Derek follows.

Derek cranks the heat up and gives Stiles a hoodie he had in the back seat. The boy changes shirt. They sit in silence while Stiles warms up, tears still rolling down his face. After a few minutes, Stiles sniffles and speaks quietly. If he wasn’t a werewolf, Derek is not sure he would have been able to hear him.

“What do you want from me, Derek…”

He sounds defeated. It’s not even a question, it’s a fact. It’s a statement coming from someone who can’t do this anymore. But neither can Derek. He starts speaking and Stiles stares at him with cold eyes. If he was a shifter, his eyes would definitely be glowing right now.

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself. I don’t need anything from you. I’m just so scared. I’m going to do anything to keep you from hurting yourself, you can be-mpphh”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Stiles has leaned across the central console and is kissing him. And for a second, Derek’s mind goes white. He gets lost in that kiss that he’s been craving for so long. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed it would be. Stiles kisses him just like he does everything else: with energy and passion, trying to be everywhere, doing everything at the same time. It’s slow but heated, and wet because of Stiles’ hair dripping down their faces and clothes. Also because of his tears that never stopped falling. Derek should stop this. He has to. He CAN’T do this.

“Stiles!”

He grabs the teenager’s arms and gently pushes him back on the passenger seat. The murderous glint in Stiles’ eyes is still there.

“What are you doing. You can’t just kiss me because you’re angry, Stiles. Was that some sort of revenge? I’m not your punching bag for Christ sake!”

Now it’s Derek’s turn to be angry. He feels used and vulnerable. His whole face closes off in a mask of steel. He doesn’t want to be the punching bag anymore…

“Isn’t that what you wanted? I just gave you what you wanted, big guy.”

“Not like that, Stiles. Not like that.”

Stiles turns away and looks through the window, arms back around his torso, holding himself up again.

“I can’t go home.”

“I know. You’re coming to the loft, I’m taking the couch and you’re getting a good night sleep. You need to sober up.”

Stiles doesn’t answer and doesn’t look at him again. Derek puts his foot to the floor and drives away, knuckles white around the wheel, a howl stuck in his chest.

 

***

By the time they get to Derek’s place, Stiles has fallen asleep. Derek shakes him awake and has to help him out of the car. The alcohol and exhaustion finally got the best of the teenager. Derek slips an arm under Stiles’ to help him walk and the boy rests his head of his shoulder, letting the wolf carry him.

Once upstairs, Stiles slumps on the couch and argues with Derek for who takes the couch and who takes the bed. Derek wins by grabbing Stiles on the couch and bride-carry him to the bed. Stiles is asleep before he even hits the sheets. He tucks him in and sets his own bed on the couch. Before he lays down, Derek texts the Sheriff to tell him Stiles is with him but leaves out details. They’ll deal with everything in the morning.

He doesn’t sleep much, too busy worrying and listening to the boy’s breathing. Stiles unique scent fills the whole loft, as it usually does when he comes over, and Derek feels dizzy.

Around 3 in the morning, he finally dozes off. But not for long. He’s awaken by a blood-curdling scream and he runs to Stiles who is sitting on the bed, still screaming, fighting with his sheets. Derek tries to put a hand on his shoulder. Stiles avoids his touch and keeps on screaming.

As a last resort solution to try and calm Stiles, Derek slips behind him on the bed so he has him against his chest. Stiles is still trashing. Derek holds him around the middle, his head on the teenager’s shoulder, whispering quiet and soothing things. The boy finally regains consciousness and realizes where he is. He lets out a heavy breath and a sob and he lets himself fall against Derek. Derek leans against his headboard and finally breathes. After a few minutes, clears his throat.

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“I can’t. Just hold me.”

And he does. He wants nothing more but to hold Stiles right now, hoping it will relieve him of some of his pain. He wishes his werewolf pain-leaching power also worked on injuries of the soul. They stay there for minutes, hours. At some point, Derek thinks Stiles has fallen back to sleep, but when the first rays of the morning sun start shining through the windows, Stiles speaks.

“I remember everything.”

Derek keeps quiet, afraid to disturb Stiles sudden motivation to share. It takes a few seconds before the boy continues.

“I… I did all this, Der. All the blood, it’s on my hands. Mine. How can you even stand looking at me right now? How can you stand touching me? How could anyone… I killed innocents. Derek, I killed my own friend.”

“You didn’t. Not by a long shot.”

“Well a guy wearing my face and my body had her killed, Derek. Some… _thing_ , that was still linked to me at the time. It doesn’t make it any better.”

Derek waits a few beats before he answers.

“Stiles. I faced him. In the end. I had him right there, in front of me, he talked to me and, trust me, it was a very poor copy of the original. It wasn’t you. In no way was IT even REMOTELY like you. You are fundamentally good, Stiles. You are everything he wasn’t. And that is why you won in the end. That is why you survived.”

The man knows Stiles is crying silently, even if he can’t see his face. He can smell tears and sorrow. But there is also a trace of something else... Relief? Hope?

Derek suddenly feels so vulnerable, so connected to Stiles, that the need to share, to confide in him is stronger than the need to forget he has been nursing for years.

“You know I understand how you feel, right?”, he says, before he feels Stiles nodding slightly. “With… with Kate, it was the same. She was my Nogitsune, in a way. I was too young and I trusted an older woman who turned out to be using me in the end. She said she loved me. Convinced me I loved her back. She showed me how to talk to a woman, how to charm my way into her bed. She basically raped me, there is no better words for it…”, Derek’s voice breaks and Stiles stiffens in his arms. “And because I told her what we are, showed her how to secretly get inside the house and told her when everyone would be there at the same time, she set my house and my whole family on fire. It’s only coincidence that Laura and I weren’t in the house at the time because, trust me, she would have had no problem burning me alive as well, despite her constant declarations of love. You know why? Because that is who she is. She is a conniving and manipulating bitch…”

“I know your guilt Stiles. It’s in me too. Even though I know deep down that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t plot against my family, I didn’t start the fire myself. But that guilt Stiles, I feel it, everyday, as I will for the rest of my life. I am right there with you. But it gets better, especially when you have people around you to remind you it’s not your fault. And you deserve that. I would like that very much if you’d let me be one of those people for you. And I’ll let you be that for me too. We could help each other…”

Derek tightens his hold around Stiles. The boy places his hands on the man’s arms and squeezes, fondly. He gets it.

The silence is a little uncomfortable but also companionable. When Stiles feels a lot more relaxed, he opens his mouth, with a shy smile on his voice.

“Again with the speeches, Sourwolf? I should call the Guinness records.”

Derek snorts, holds him tighter and drops a small kiss on the back of the boy’s head. They stay like that for a long time, quiet in the early morning peace. After a while, Derek disturbs the silence again.

“Stiles?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you want to die?”

Stiles sighs and thinks for a few seconds before he sighs again and answers.

“No, Derek, I don’t want to die. I couldn’t do that to my dad, I don’t think he would survive losing me.”

It remains unsaid but Derek hears the “ _too”_ that comes after “me”.

“Anyway, if I wanted to, don’t you think I would have done it a long time ago?”

“I guess…”

Derek waits before he speaks again.

“Stiles?”

“Yes, big guy.”

“Please survive.”

They lie down on the bed and, stuck to one another like they are holding on for dear life, they finally fall asleep.

 

***

Later that morning when Derek wakes up, feeling lost and groggy with sleep, he is alone. The bed is cold next to him.

Stiles is gone.


End file.
